


War-Weary

by radishleaf



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Introspection, Napping, POV Alternating, Pining, Sorta kinda, let them rest jpg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:14:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29720535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radishleaf/pseuds/radishleaf
Summary: When the tide of battle has finally ebbed to calm, the fatigue gets to Beruka and Niles, leading to an impromptu nap.
Relationships: Belka | Beruka/Zero | Niles
Comments: 3
Kudos: 1





	War-Weary

**Author's Note:**

> first and foremost, hbd beruka!!!!
> 
> secondly, hbd (not really) to me for more nilruka content!!! (produced by me, but w/e.) this is simply a drabble based on a HC i had for them. i just wanted to write something fluffy for my otp, but it ended up a little more introspective lol. kinda content with the result, tho. 
> 
> as always, kindly disregard any grammatical errors, punctuation mistakes, and the like. i tried to be thorough. enjooooy.

The cacophony of war was far from them, a distant storm upon the horizon; battle but a blur as memory of blood and steel faded into the body’s giving-in to fatigue and relief. Somehow, Beruka and Niles found themselves beside each other under the shade of a tree as the setting sun blazed against a knoll on the horizon. There was a third body with them for but a moment—Corrin—but she slipped away just as she’d appeared, quick to tend to the wounded and leaving wyvern rider and archer to their own devices once she confirmed they were well.

Beruka let out a breath as she leaned against the side of the tree; its firmness much-needed support for the knot in her lower back. She probably pulled something during the last battle; her wyvern had given her some trouble this time, the rush of both flight and fight in the midst of an ambush getting the better of both of them.

Her body felt heavy, her limbs like weights on swinging ropes. It was a stark reminder of her days in the slums, a tiredness she was well-acquainted with. Yet, even if her mind didn’t remember, her body certainly knew. She’d grown too comfortable as Lady Camilla’s retainer. It really was a life of luxury if she could overlook the pains of her childhood so succinctly.

However, this pain stood out in stark contrast to the other sensation she was aware of: the soft brush of an bicep against hers. Niles’s attention was elsewhere—placed somewhere between the horizon and camp being hastily made to the west—but Beruka’s was entirely trained on him. She feigned a lack of awareness, discrete in her side-eyed glance, even if her entire being seemed to balance on that lingering touch.

In what seemed like a lifetime away, Beruka couldn’t stand Niles. Her feelings bordered on hate, preferring to keep their working relationship strictly professional. He was a reminder of everything she wanted to put behind her; a rat of the slums through and through. Every coy smile, every teasing remark, every invasion of her personal space was done in the sole interest of shaking her frigid façade; reminding her that she was a person beneath the mask. In some roundabout way, it was like Niles wanted to prove to her that she was human—not a monster. Much to her chagrin, it had _worked._

She wouldn’t say they were on friendly terms, but she tolerated his presence. He was more a splinter under her nail than a thorn in her side. There was only aspect between them that bothered her: she was now always _aware_ of him. Whenever Niles was bodily in her presence, Beruka couldn’t turn off how her attention focused solely on him. It was unpleasant; her stomach roiled, her hackles stood on end, her temple throbbed. She couldn’t put a name to the feeling, and when she questioned Lady Camilla about it one calm afternoon, her charge gave a teasing giggle and said she’d leave it for her adorable retainer to figure out for herself.

Even in her current state, those same physical reactions found her again—doubled now that proximity had turned into contact. Quashing the feeling came to no avail; it would remain until Niles was far from her—a passing thought Beruka didn’t like the prospect of even when she yearned to shoo him away.

Worst yet, her head was beginning to loll. The rush of battle had finally receded, chased away completely by the tiredness in her bones. Never before had Beruka wanted rest. Desperation, duty, and dread urged her to remain awake, but she mentally dashed it aside in the next instance. For once in her life, she was going to give in. She could damn herself later.

The tree offered little in the way of comfort, so she opted for the nearest softest thing: the shoulder that blasted bicep was attached to. Beruka felt the slight jump in Niles’s shoulder when her chin found its way there, the tension as the muscles seemed to seize, only to be relinquished in the coming moments when it was clear his fellow retainer wouldn’t be budging.

Beruka had prepared an argument on her lips—a weak reason that it was a spur of the moment thing—but it seemed she didn’t need to use it. She only had to make herself comfortable, which she did with relish as her mind swung closer and closer to that familiar darkness. Niles accepted every bump and nudge from her calmly, and in no time, Beruka’s mind was completely seized by the comfort of sleep. She drifted off soundlessly, only a mutter of some unknown thought leaving her, until she could wake again to the march of Corrin’s army. 

* * *

Niles couldn’t look at her for fear she might see the rush of red to his cheeks, the smile that dared twist on his lips. He thought such familiarly—such _friendliness_ —was impossible, but here it was, as plain as the setting sun. Instead of a leap, it was a bound; a moment he thought inconceivable between them. Something he could only hope for.

Initially, Beruka and him weren’t on the best terms. She was a reminder of everything he wanted to put behind him; a rat of the slums through and through. He did everything to keep her at arms’ length, chiding and snarking at her to keep them on vitriolic terms. She’d taken to him just as he’d expected; glaring daggers at him at every turn instead of jabbing one in his throat as she was wont to do. At first, Niles thought he was satisfied with this tenacious distance between them, but over time, it made him an unhappy man.

Niles was always one to think familiarity breeds contempt. It was only with Lord Leo he allowed himself to be true. With the others, he forced a facade—a pervert meant to niggle and disturb. It was the only defense he knew. How else might he survive this new atmosphere—this new life—where he didn’t need to struggle day to day to eat, but to live?

Beruka was the one that brought the worst out of him. He didn’t know when it began; at first, she was only a reminder, someone to avoid. Niles only ever looked to her back (and my, what a lovely view it was), but soon, his eyes began to look at her face. _Actually_ look at her, and it was there he could see it: the subtle shift of her lips, the crinkle of her eyes, and occasional flare of her nostrils. The assassin who thought herself a monster was more human than she realized, and Niles found himself determined to show her how.

Somewhere in the mess of all that, Niles’s opinion changed. Beruka was no longer a reminder, but a memory he wanted to keep. Her pale face was burned seemingly forever in his mind’s eye, especially the moment when he was honored by one of her rare smiles. He wanted to keep that expression constant, be the reason it was there. It was then, much to his chagrin, he’d come to love her. Honestly, earnestly love her; he couldn’t fake the waver of his heart when he so much as looked at her. Unfortunately, it was a love that would be in vain. There was no way Beruka would come to love a man like him when there was always someone better.

It was why he’d come to prize these quiet moments between them, but _this_ one was the diamond in the rough. Niles felt as if his persistence and hard work had come to pass—Beruka was actually touching him, not shoving him away, but _touching_ him. The curve of her chin fit snug against his shoulder, the weight comfortable and reassuring. Niles’s heartbeat reached a crescendo in his ears, almost having him double over in lovestruck glee. If Beruka could hear him, he was glad it went unremarked. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if she made him aware of boyish feelings he thought he outgrew.

Niles knew Beruka would have a reason later for this. She would probably blame it on the aftermath of battle, a string of sleepless nights, or most likely, a spur of the moment decision. Niles didn’t care if she downplayed the moment, tossed it over her shoulder as another memory to fade into obscurity. Niles would remember as this marked, in a small way, a victory for him. A chance to make what he only yearned for a reality.

When Beruka’s breath slowly blew warm puffs against his shoulder, it was then Niles finally turned to look at her. He could see the tiredness worn in her face down to her sallow cheekbones. If only he could soothe away the worry to her knotted brow, hold her in his arms and whisper away the nightmare that was likely to come from this impromptu nap. Though Niles once thought it impossible, it wasn’t now. Simply something to look forward to in the future.

But if Beruka could make a bound across the divide, so could he. Tiredness was getting the better of him, as well. Tentatively, as he pushed down his bashfulness, Niles leaned the weight of his head against Beruka’s. He could only hold himself like this for a passing moment before he relinquished his entirety against her; the full flush of her warmth drawing him deeper into slumber.

Undoubtedly, when they woke up, they would return to their familiar dynamic. He would tease her; she would scowl at him. It was the only way they knew how to regard each other. But in this moment of peace, Niles would remain content being more than friends, but less than lovers. Simply being a pair of war-weary survivors in the midst of rest was more than enough.


End file.
